


Honey

by orphan_account



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Adult Dipper Pines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Based on the song Between the Bars, Bill Cipher is an Asshole, Blood and Gore, Dipper is Bill's Prisoner and Everything Sucks, God Bill Cipher, Human Bill Cipher, M/M, Other, Possessive Behavior, This is Not Happy or Good At All, Toxic Relationships, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-06-06 11:23:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6751978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill Cipher's caught Dipper Pines in a little trap, and all it took was a bit of honey, cashmere, and sugared promises sworn between kisses and laughter. His own Pine Tree, all to himself - and no one else will have him. No one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drink Up, Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little note: I do not support toxic relationships at all. I much more enjoy the more healthy Bill/Dipper things but it can also (very easily) be a toxic relationship, and I simply want to write that. Fiction does not equal reality. Just wanted to get that out of the way~ 
> 
> Here's the song that inspired this, by the way: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iQeithIy8_4 (Between the Bars - Chris Garneau)

_Drink up one more time_  
_And I'll make you mine_  
_Keep you apart,_  
_Deep in my heart_  
_Separate from the rest,_  
_Where I like you the best_  
_And keep the things you forgot_

 

All that glitters is not gold; cider is, perhaps, but cider does not taste like the final breath of a star and fire and its dying fumes. Dipper is sure of it, but it is smooth all the same and smolders in the pit of his stomach just like any alcohol would. He's repulsed by the fact that he likes the taste, and even further by himself when he tips the glass back to catch any lingering droplets.

"Don't look so sour, Pine Tree. It's supposed to be sweet! It is, isn't it?" A hand clasped in cashmere sweeps past his cheek to steal away the devil's nectar that Dipper so badly craves. The glass is empty like a honeycomb, all the golden spice gone. It _had_ been sweet.

"No. It tastes worse than Grunkle Stan's socks. It's gross." He's lying. "Can I have a Pitt Cola instead or are you going to deny me that too?" He licks his lips. Tastes like stardust and sugar.

Maybe Bill's laughter is what's golden and glittering. Dipper doesn't trust gold anymore though and venom drips drains into his glare when Bill doubles over, balancing against the bars of his cell. "Aw, Pine Tree, it cracks me up when you think you can lie to me. ME, of all people. Well, demons and immortal beings technically." A casual flick of his wrist waves away all the nonsense. His ichor iris bore into the boy's with a startling intensity. "I am a God, after all."

Dipper would have cowered if he wasn't entranced by that sole eye - the colour that is so much like thievery and beauty and deceit. It is the colour of stars, if the stars had been snatched from the sockets of the night and slathered in alluring honey. It is the colour of lies and a ticking time bomb, the lifespan of a honeyed star soon to erupt in a rage of fire and chaos. It is a colour that he loathes yet is drawn to, same as the golden liquid he drank and yearns for.

 _What the fuck was in that drink,_ he thinks. But he doesn't have time to think, because Bill's yanking the collar of his shirt and kissing his lips with words and bruises between the cell bars.

"I am your God, Pine Tree. And you can only love me," Bill coos, "Not anyone else. All mine. You're all mine~"

Funny how Dipper gets drunk off his lips instead of the (perhaps) cider.

 

-⋆- 

 

"If I was going to create a figment of my imagination to talk to it'd probably be Mabel." Talking to himself is drawing a pretty fine line, isn't it? "It would probably be the same if I started hallucinating too. How long is it until you start to see hallucinations from dehydration and starvation?" He counts off his fingers, one, two, three, all too blurry to see.

"Can't remember." Dipper also doesn't remember when addiction replaced the marrow of his bones and the beating of his heart. One, two, three glasses in three days too blurry to think of, and he was hooked.

He needs that cider (as he thought of it), needs it as much as oxygen and Vitamin C and A and his sister and his family. If he can't have those, then the cider will be plenty enough for his malnourished body and fuzzy, cotton ball brain. However, Bill hasn't visited in days. He's pretty sure at least a week has passed, all without the necessities of Dipper Pines. That can't be healthy.

"Oh my God. I'm going to die." Panic would have seized every individual blood cell in his veins at that realization but Dipper's skeleton eyes are already sliding shut, like a lid over a coffin before it's lowered into its grave. "...Fuck you, Bill."

That would show him.

_At least Cipher won't win this time._

"You called, my beloved Pine Tree?" Cashmere fingers sweetly crush his rose petal dreams of funerals and the possibility of an afterlife, caressing along the line of his jaw and chapped lips. "Whoops! Looks like I forgot that you need something of sustenance to actually survive! My Pine Tree," He sighs, "So fragile. Here kid. I'll kiss it better."

In a state of delirium while teetering between death's embrace and a God's kiss Dipper furrows his brow and says, "I'm not a kid." He would have added _"I'm twenty three and just let me die, asshole"_ but a cashmere hand ghosts across his cheek and then cashmere lips are upon his own.

Dipper figures this is what life and death tastes like: wine and cream and and wild honey fresh from a beehive, and blood and sea water and the death that comes with autumn. He can taste it as Bill Cipher kisses him, tangling his fingers in his thicket hair.

Hunger has strange effects, Dipper discovers, because he's kissing him back, not because he wants to but because his hunger demands it. From this kiss the rhythm returns to his pulse, his bones strengthen, his chewed up, bitten cheeks numb, and his hatred for Cipher returns tenfold.

But Bill must have the elixir of life in his veins, otherwise Dipper wouldn't deepen their kiss and breathe in his breath until he can muster the energy to shove at the demon's chest. Bill chuckles, low and throaty and satisfied, and vanishes.

_Fucking magic._

He wishes he felt awful, like he'd just drowned in the abyss of the deep blue sea, at the very bottom of the ocean floor with salt in his lungs; instead, his lungs might as well be honey combs and his blood honey bees. Vitality hums throughout his body and Dipper is sickened by it - his body may feel sugar-coated, but his mind knows better.

Unable to do anything though, same as it has been for the past month, Dipper simply remains curled up in a corner of his cell. He wonders how he ended up here.

How everything went wrong. He's not sure.


	2. Fireflies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They said not to trust the devil, but his smile was charming and his eyes were summer, and he danced with him amongst the fireflies. They said to take it slow, that things were not what they seemed, but they were best friends, and then more than friends.
> 
> He didn't know that fireflies were liars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fireflies (Chris Garneau) -- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T9q63Am_D2g

_You're making friends with the fireflies,_  
_You know when they die their light stays alive,_  
_But the things they say are not what they seem_

 

They first met at a carnival, and while a novelist does not belong there it is the Devil's playground. Parading horses with hooves screwed tight to the carousal, painted masks and phony laughter from clowns, cotton candy thick in the air and melting with each and every exhale - it was indeed the perfect place for the Devil, the one who spoke in sugared tongues and had carnival lights for eyes.

Dipper slouched against a light post, the colours and patterns and swirling merriment all too much at once. He'd much rather blink against moonlight than lamplight, with the rustle of the unknown through ferns or pine needles instead of trivial chatter from passersby, victory bells, and the mechanics of civilization. His heart pined after the woods of Gravity Falls even at such late hours.

The annual festival had not been his ideal choice for a weekend night but his dear sister had insisted he join her. Something along the lines of "socializing with actual people instead of trees" must have caught his attention; or maybe it was the fact that she'd threatened to cut off his supply of Pitt Cola that wormed inside his brain until he relented. Either way, he'd trudged after her only to be left at a corn dog stand within five minutes. Mabel had shrieked at the sight of her usual posse, apologized with those puppy dog eyes of hers, and gone along with her gaggle of friends.

He wondered if fireflies would make for better friends, though he knew that they too were lost once Sun replaced their twinkling star light.

Dipper didn't have long to wonder, however. A man too dapper for the Ferris wheel and too much of a silk stocking for the backwoods took post near him. If he hadn't been in Gravity Falls Dipper would have found it strange that his attention was instantly glued to this aristocrat, his heart fluttering betwixt his rib bones like a caged butterfly.

An atmosphere of enchantment magnetized the distance between them, wrought with the scent of danger, of the woods - cinders and smoke, musk and lilies and pine needles, ancient mysteries and dreams. Beneath the confidence of a smirk a gold canine poked out from his lips, a perfect match for his sole eye of molten gold. The other was an olive slab of skin bare as an artist's first canvas.

"Heya, kid. Like what you see?" His casual flirt rolled off his tongue like caramel and he swept back locks of hair the colour of impure gold, a devil in disguise in a suit of attraction and a bowtie.

Cherry embers smoldering in a fire pit couldn't compare to the heat that crept up Dipper's neck to the tip of his ears.

"S...Sorry. I didn't mean to stare." It took a good dose of courage for Dipper to muster a response. Words fumbled between his teeth and diaphragm, caught in the embarrassment hot under his collar. He wasn't sure what to say, nor why a stranger would strike up a - rather flirtatious - conversation with him.

"Don't worry about it. I don't mind. I'd even say you've got good taste, y'know!"

Just taste of the sweet nectar that laced in his voice, on his tongue, was all Dipper wanted. Fuck Pitt Cola.

"Wow. You're pretty...pretty..." Ah, words.

The man must have truly been the Devil because he bumped his shoulder against Dipper's and at his golden laughter he flushed five shades more red. "Pretty? As in drop-dead gorgeous? Yeah, kid, I know. No need to tip-toe around what you're really thinking. Name's Bill, by the way. Short for Beelzebub."

Dipper wasn't sure whether to take his caramel words as a joke or as serious as death itself. A laugh squirmed out of the moon struck boy anyways, strained and hoarse and it may have been. "My name's Dipper. Nice to meet you, Bill." He stuck out his hand with hardly a thought and prayed to the Heavens above that his palm wasn't drenched in sweat.

To his absolute horror Bill took his hand and raised it to his lips like a true gentleman - the kiss was chaste but caused him to gasp nonetheless. "Pleasure to meet ya' too."

When his hand was ever so carefully lowered to his side and released, Bill's fingers lingering a tad, he cradled it to his chest with all the delicacy one would handle glass. It tingled - it burned - but pleasantly, he thought. All thoughts of his sister and the carnival and the woods were lost to the bonfire Bill inspired within him. He was utterly, utterly captivating.

"So, kid, tell me about yourself. What's the news about Dipper Pines?" For a second Dipper's brow creased. Had he mentioned his surname?

He must have not noticed in his haze. "Well, I'm a novelist. I write mystery novels, mostly, or some in the horror genre." Dipper scratched the back of his neck, self-conscious under Bill's intrigue and roguish hints of further interest. "They're mostly inspired by here. Gravity Falls, I mean. Yeah. Uh. A lot of strange things happen around here especially in the woods and I go there a lot. It's actually pretty exciting! There's so many mysteries I can hardly believe it. Like, the Gobblewonker at the lake. That's not in the woods, I know, but it's still really close and really weird. And then there's the Sasquatch and I hope you don't think this is too unbelievable but there's gnomes in the woods too! Me and my sister have seen them before," Dipper huffed in the midst of rambling, "and they're not too friendly. Kind of. And then there's..."

Bill pressed a finger to Dipper's lips, though his mouth only hung agape once again at his lilting laughter. "Sounds wonderful. Why don't you show me though? Mythical creatures sound much more exciting than this little party."

Dipper had never been more enthusiastic to trample into the woods at ungodly hours of night, especially so alongside a devil.

 

-⋆-

 

When Dipper awoke the next morning it was with a groggy head stuffed full of fog and the tantalizing flavour of cider warm and hearty on his tongue. He couldn't for the life of him remember what had transpired at or after the carnival.

 _Must've had a little too much to drink_ , he mused.

 

-⋆-

 

The next time he saw Bill it all flooded back in waves of caramel flavours and pine needles. Dipper stumbled, palm to his temple, and his breath halted when familiar cashmere hands caught him.

"Whoa, there. You alright Pine Tree?"

Pine Tree. Yes, Pine Tree. His new "nickname". When they'd ventured into the woods in search of magic and myths they'd rested beneath one's boughs. There an angel and a demon shared tales and history with moon beams in their eyes; in Dipper's soul too, but not in Bill's. The Devil has no soul, after all. And there, so late into the night that the moon waned and dawn rosied above it, they had carved there names into the bark. Gloves sticky with sap perched on Dipper's shoulders afterwards, to steady him then, to steady him now.

Except this time their lips were separate.

"You...We..." How could he have forgotten? He'd been guided home that night, their lips met once more at the doorstep of a lopsided shack, and then Dipper's memories became fog.

Bill patted his cheek sympathetically. "Don't think to hard about it. I'm a charming man, Pine Tree, and you're an interesting guy. C'mon, why don't we have a chat while we walk!" It was hardly an offer, palm already a very noticeable pressure on Dipper's back, so he obliged without protest, but not without concern.

Any questions bundled up and right on the tip of his tongue soon melted into fragmented, trivial paranoia. Bill's voice was cream and his constant touches (hand still leading him on on the bridge of his spine, fingers petting up his forearm) had Dipper purring like a house cat.

He had the brunet wrapped 'round his finger, and he wasn't keen on setting him loose anytime soon. Or, at all.

 

-⋆-

 

Mabel was now the one left behind as the months passed. It was just, and served her right after bailing out on him at the carnival. So Dipper reasoned.

His days were occupied with Bill and pixies and secluded fairy circles and ancient hieroglyphics sketched into even more ancient stone; with Bill and perytons and unicorns and centaurs; with Bill and magic and secrets as old as time itself.

One secret which Bill imparted to the mortal boy half a year after they'd met.

"I'm a God," He said.

Just like that. As if it were a fact as simple as the sky was blue.

Really, Dipper shouldn't have been too surprised. He'd witnessed spectacular acts of magic and seen paranormal, magical creatures before. Perhaps it was because Bill was, by appearance alone, human. His hair was soft and parted when he ran his hand through it. His skin olive and tanned beneath the sun. He inhaled, exhaled. He was warm. But then again, there were parts of Bill Cipher that were so bizarrely, wonderfully inhuman.

On nights chilled with autumn he'd curl an arm around him, fingers digging into his hips slightly to hold him close, so close - and a blossom of cerulean would blaze on his other hand. It singed Dipper's fingers when he touched it and Bill would chase him around with it, sometimes, but it warmed him all the way to core.

Other times Bill would vanish, appear, and disappear in a blink of an eye.

Then there was the effect he had on the Dipper. A single touch, a single kiss, or a single glance had him melting like butter and leaning, purring against him. They were hip to hip more often than not and everyone knew about their relationship. Bill liked to show him off, even if Dipper really would rather not, though he supposed it wasn't so bad.

He could be alone.

So when Bill told him he was a God he marveled more over the fact that he had been chosen, out of everyone, for Cipher to spend nearly all his time with.

They'd been in a grove of pines, trekking along a path secluded in nature, when Bill smiled, pet his hair, and peppered him with kisses. "You're special," He whispered into his ear, "You're real special, Pine Tree. Trust me." And he pushed Dipper against a tree, leaving a trail of kisses along his jawline and down his neck. It'd been an uncomfortable position for him; a branch jabbed into his side and the bark was scratchy, rough. When he tried to shift though Bill kept him firmly in place.

It wasn't too much of a bad thing, however. Dipper glowed under Bill's whispers, shivered at his breath hot on his throat even when he bit down hard enough to draw blood. When Bill kissed him on the lips he tasted pennies and summer and nothing else mattered.

When Mabel confronted him about the mark on his neck, bloodied still, he'd lied and passed it off as a near harmless injury acquired while in the woods.

Everything was spectacular, really. Mabel may have had her suspicions about Bill ("No one in town's heard of him before, I can see the marks from here, He doesn't let you go into town without him,") but he just laughed. "You're jealous," He said one day, exasperated. They didn't talk for a week after that which Dipper was perfectly okay with.

He had Bill, after all.

They went out on dates, explored the woods and one another's mouths, and he was happy.

One night Bill brought him to a clearing in the woods. The midnight moon blinked down, clouds like stardust gliding across it's light every once in a while. There were no sounds. All Dipper could hear was his breathing and Bill's own. No wind, no insects, no creatures, nothing strange or of the night. Only them. He thought Bill intended that and didn't question it.

Hand clasped over Dipper's he guided him to the center. "Watch." He snapped his fingers and for a moment Dipper's heart stuttered, skipped, and stalled.

All around them fireflies revealed themselves, lazy and lethargic but beautiful, specks of summer in the middle of fall. "For you, Pine Tree." Bill bowed low in courtesy before sweeping him into his arms, and they danced. One step, two step, side step, twirl. One step, two step, three step, kiss. Bill's hand ghosted down and across and all over Dipper, fireflies kissed his skin where the other's fingers left him flushed, and the star fire insects once silent ballerinas around them whispered.

Hushed, far-away, moony, they spun words of silk and honeycomb:

_"You'll be forever happy."_

_"Everything is perfect."_

_"Love him."_

_"He loves you."_

_"He loves you more than anyone."_

_"You're his favourite."_

_"You're his one and only."_

_"Only you."_

_"Love him."_

_"Anything for him."_

_"Sacrifice everything for him."_

_"He loves you."_

_"He loves you."_

**_"Love him."_ **

And Dipper did. Dipper loved Bill Cipher with all his human heart.

He should not have listened to the fireflies.


	3. Aurum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He forgot that even a honeybee has a stinger (but they die after they sting, don't they) and that all that glitters is not gold (but his blood glitters gold).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skinwalkers (by Orion Rigel) -- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tYdwth2m9_U
> 
> //Trigger Warnings for gore and emetophobia ((vomitting)) in this chapter!

_I just know he has me under his power_  
_I can't remember if I should be scared_  
_Oh I just know he wants me to follow him into the woods_  
_I know that I want to_  
_But I ain't so sure that I should_

 

 

They go to the woods nearly every day.

Bill shows Dipper marvelous, unfathomable sights, unfathomable wonders; and when the inquisitive, doe-eyed boy spies a unicorn for the first time he's enchanted.

It's gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. From argent, silvery fur a sanguine horn spirals forth from it's forehead. Dipper didn't know their horns could be red, marveling at the equine beast. Diamond hooves, corded muscles beneath satin flesh, lustrous, elegant, a baguette of creatures, mythical or not.

Bill places a hand on it's curling mane. It's skin quivers under his touch, faintly smoldering with magic, he assumes.

Gorgeous.

The blonde strokes his fingers across it's snout, back to it's mane, up to the grooves of it's horn. Only then does he realize Bill's palm is smeared red from blood dribbling down it's sole antler.

It gorges through Bill's abdomen. His body jerks once. A gasp hitches on his lips and he curls inwardly around the protrusion, hands hovering over the wound and clasping the horn with a white knuckled grip. Gold spills down, down, down his body, a swirl of metallic colours that paint him with a gory, vile beauty. Red and gold mix together like autumn, like the leaves drifting down around them.

Dipper stares, horrified, frozen. Bile burns at the back of his throat and oxygen is no longer respiring into his lungs.

Glistening bits of organ protrude forth from Bill's stomach, held only in place by the sanguinary unicorn. It's hooves are dyed gold as it clomps back - all at once bile sears Dipper's esophagus and he's regurgitating joy and happiness and the breakfast he'd shared with Bill that morning.

He can hear the squelch of the horn sliding out of flesh before Bill stumbles forward. A gilded splotch marks the wound.

"My, my, you're a feisty mare, aren'tcha?" Laughter, hoarse and serrated, rasps beside him. Tears cloud his vision. He can't look up, can't bare to see the gore and gold, doesn't want to feel how hot Bill's celestial blood is on his skin, and _oh God_ that laughter. It's broken winds chimes jangling against smashed wine bottles and glass and bent, rusty cutlery and it can't be Bill's.

"Don't think you wanna see this Pine Tree." An arm winds around his waist, yanking him against a damp warmth. He's sobbing now into his hands. Humid breath sweet with the scent of cider and stardust and pennies tickles his ear. "Shh."

Cipher snaps his fingers.

The unicorn shrieks. Or maybe that's the sound of it's skeleton and sinew and goregous, lustrous body being set ablaze. He doesn't look up to see. It pops, crackles; the beast brays.

Bill laughs.

"Don't trifle with a God, my honeysuckle. Or else you'll end up charred and smell like ashes. Wouldn't want that, hm?"

 

-⋆-

 

Dipper vomits four more times before he reaches home. Each time Bill mocks him in a soft, pitying tone, wiping the sick from his mouth with a handkerchief soon set afire like the unicorn.

"Got a weak stomach, don'tcha, Pine Tree?"

"Aw, don't flinch! It's just a bit of fire."

"Y'know, it would've killed ya' if I wasn't there! Looks like it already gored some meat-sack before it saw us. What'd you think, their horns are naturally red?"

Yes.

"It's a good thing I'm a God, Pine Tree, or you probably would've died!"

Dipper shakes his head, frown shoved up against Bill's shoulder while his panting leaves behind the scent of regurgitated naivety. "I...I don't feel well."

He can feel the god's wolf toothed smirk against his bangs as Bill kisses his birthmark. "'Course you don't sweetheart! Humans like you are so sensitive to death and gore. You'd be feeling even worse if it gored ya' through though. Be grateful for that." Although he isn't so sure he can find itself inside him amongst all the turmoil of his gut, Dipper nods.

Mabel isn't there when they walk through the door. Dipper's immensely grateful. A flicker of guilt stabs his heart but Bill's hands are on the small of his back, guiding him upstairs, and as soon as he enters his room drowsiness drugs his brain. Any thoughts of the unicorn or Mabel or anyone or anything slip away like wine from a drunkards unsteady hand. The mattress sinks down, molding beneath Bill's and his own weight. He leans back against the demon. Lips ghost the back of his neck and Dipper hums, closing his eyes.

Distractions are welcome and everywhere Bill touches is _hot_.

"Want me to make ya' feel all better, Pine Tree?" his lover coos. Dipper turns to face him, and their teeth clack together and Bill laughs and kisses him roughly, and the brunette melts against him.

The taste of jam from breakfast that morning mixes with the honeyed elixir that Bill always, always has no matter what; fingers trail all across his body, and Dipper finds his own hands against Bill's stomach. There's no trace of a wound.

Eventually he has to retract from the kiss to catch his breath. Bill holds it for a little longer though, unkempt hair tangled in his grip, nails digging into his cheek before panic dimly stirs within his lungs.

He catches the younger one's hands against his chest and exhales and Dipper gasps, inhaling what he imagines star dust must taste like. His head is light, as if it's a balloon filled with helium about to float up and up and up to the ozone.

Through a haze drunken with kisses and lack of oxygen he blinks drowsily.

His sister's eyes pierce his own matching pair. Photos are lined along his nightstand. Discomfort prickles across his skin. Paper faces behind glass stare him down, of Mabel and himself, the woods, Bill. There's one of Stan. His stomach twists. It feels like his organs are being knotted up in a bow and being presented to a hospital patient.

"C...Can we watch a movie? Instead?"

His voice is frail. The shift in mood doesn't appear to both Bill. He nods. His grin is untamed. "Sure. I get to pick though."

Dipper doesn't protest. His movie of choice is gory, and even though Dipper knows it's cheap theatrics he thinks he might be sick again. He excuses himself to the bathroom when the protagonist ventures into a hospital.

That night his dreams are full of IV bags brimming with liquid gold and half unicorn, half man monstrosities that chase him through white hallways.

When he whimpers in his sleep Bill laughs quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally going to be twice as long, but I cut it in half since I haven't updated in ages. Whoops. Chapter four hopefully won't take near as long to be posted~


End file.
